Dear God
by iwriterandomthings
Summary: A knock at the door and then nothing is right ever again. More things are shattered than just possessions. Life will be in a million little pieces, who can help pick them up? A House and Wilson strong friendship story. Reviews make me happy!
1. Door Knocks and Lost Causes

**A/N:** Ok, so today was _really_ boring (even though it was duct tape day, don't ask! It's homecoming week.) I came up with this story the other day after I kept singing one of my favorite songs over and over, then while eating what ever crap they were serving for lunch this idea popped into my head. Then I just decided to run with it. I've had a few people read over the rough drafts and they absolutely fell in love with this story.

This story probably won't be updated again until Sunday, but I'll try to have a few updates ready so I can just post them before I leave.

Friday (tomorrow) is the big Homecoming Game/Dance. All my friends are going and I never see them anymore (high school sucks in more ways than one.). I have to go to the homecoming game because the band is there, but then there is the dance (HAUNTED HOMECOMING!) and I really want to go. The dance goes until 11 P.M., and I have to be at school at 8:30 Saturday because we have the big ISSMA Marching Festival and our band director will murder me if I miss it.

So yeah, there's my weekend in a nutshell.

**Description: **A knock at the door and then nothing is right ever again. More things are shattered than just possessions. Life will be in a million little pieces, who can help pick them up? A House and Wilson strong friendship story.

**Disclaimer: **All the glory that is this character, alas, does not belong to me; I'm just borrowing House, Wilson, and Cuddy for awhile. Don't worry; I'll put them back when I'm finished.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment One

"Door Knocks and Lost Causes"

House was sitting in the dark, the television was on, but left muted. His eyes stared straight ahead at the screen, slightly unfocused. Spongebob darted across the screen singing the "F-U-N" song silently.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

The barrage of pounding sounded as if it were trying to stampedethrough the entrance. He plucked himself from the couch, wincing as the leg protested his weight. He hadn't taken his medication since he arrived at home, holding it off by elevating his leg on a pillow and moving as little as possible. Limping to the door without his cane _wasn't_ his brightest idea of the evening. He carefully distributed his weight on the door frame and pried it open. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the man at his doorstep.

"Who are you?" House uttered in his most commanding voice possible.

"Oh _me_?" the man pointed to his chest "I'm your worst nightmare."

This man was young in his mid twenties, but he was built like a brick wall. He towered over House by _at least _half a foot. His arms were rigidly muscled, and his chest was sculpted by the _huge_ muscles that lay beneath. House backed up about half a step, the man looked like he was ready to beat the shit out him the first chance he got, he didn't want to give him that opportunity. He reached out a powerful arm and pushed House back further, out of the way.

House gritted his teeth as he stepped down on the right leg, shooting pain erupted from the thigh and meandered down to his foot and up his spine. His right hind gripped at the wasted muscle trying to achieve the lost cause of dissipating the ache of misfiring nerves. He backed up into the wall using it for support.

"Nice place ya got here." the man stated, admiring one of the two guitars mounted on the wall beside the grand piano. The guitar was House's favorite, a Yamaha acoustic his mother bought for his birthday when he was in 8th grade. His father hated the fact that his mother had to buy him something _noisy_ out of all the other perfectly good _quiet_ gifts out there. The wood was well worn now and it had gone through _more_ than its share of guitar strings but, the thing still played as perfect as the day he received it. House slowed his breathing, trying not to let on that he was in severe pain. He wouldn't tell this to his best friend and he sure wasn't admitting it to someone he didn't even know.

The man took a step forward and with one swift motion, sent the guitar flying off its rack straight at the piano. House had to look away as the guitar collided with the piano, creating a large gouge in its otherwise perfect finish. Most of the guitar's body was splintered and scattered on the floor, all that remained was a section of the neck. House ignored the momentary flare of pain as he advanced at the man. A strong hand reached out to stop him in his tracks, pushing into his chest, he was held back.

"I _don't_ think you wanna mess with me gimp." His hand flipped up to grip into House's shoulder. House let out a wimper as the man's nails dug into what little flesh there was above the bones. In one last attempt to escape, he tried to twist away. He failed, all the energy draining from him.

"_Let go_." He murmured out. The man spun House around and wrenched his arm up behind his back. In this position he was helpless, the man had complete control over him. He could feel his leg threatening to give out, what was left of the muscle straining and failing to keep up as too much pressure was added on.

The man jabbed his other elbow into House's back forcing him to his knees. House screamed as his leg went into revolt for the abuse, the man just tightened up an increment on House's arm. House felt the tendons, ligaments and muscles of his shoulder pull and stretch beyond their means, he feared the bone would pop out of socket any moment now. Finally, a bone jarring crack brought tears to his eyes, he was sure his shoulder was dislocated and a bone in his forearm was broken. The man let House's arm go and it flopped uselessly to his side. He reached for it with his left hand, palpating the tender skin of the shoulder before stopping to hold it still. As a doctor he knew, the less movement, the less damage. His breathing was labored and he struggled to get it under control.

"What do you want." He said, his voice barley above a whisper. He was in too much pain to manage anymore volume.

"_Me?_ I want lots of things, your lifefor example." The man paraded proudly around House like he was his soon to be kill.

"So, what I insulted you in the clinic?" House had no idea who this man was, he was sure he never seen this man before, but he was here now, that meant he had to have seen him somewhere once before..

"Nope."

"Killed a family member?" The man was silent after this. "_So_-"

"Stop talking!" House was cut off as the man's thick soled boot came around to make an attack at his side.The contact caused two of his ribs to snap like toothpicks, but the kicks kept coming. House was curled in on himself, his breathing shuddered from his injuries, he just _hoped_ the man had done what he had came for.

"Are you gonna talk _again_?" House didn't respond, but he did hear the man rustling for something behind the piano. "I asked you a question gimp!" House still didn't answer, he had no energy left to do so. The man smacked the neck of the broken guitar heavily onto House's right thigh. The pain blinded him and nearly sent him into shock, he wasn't aware of it but he screamed loudly, somehow angering the man.

"You talked." The man said, standing above House staring _straight_ into his eyes. House quickly glanced at the man. The man chuckled as he saw the weakness and pain hidden behind House's eyes. He struck again with the guitar neck this time bringing it down across House's skull. House slumped and stopped moving, a pool of blood quickly collecting under him. The man dropped what was left of the now more than useless chunk of wood and it landed next to House's left arm. The man walked out of the apartment triumphantly, he had done his job, _it was over_.

_Rrrrring! Rrrrring! Rrrrring!_

The sound of the phone cut through the thick eerie silence of the room. The message machine picked up for the seventh time that night.

_"You've reached a number that has been disconnected and is no longer in service. If you feel you've reached this recording in error, go ahead, hang up on three. One, two, BEEP!"_ The message said once again.

"House, pick up it's me Wilson. I was just wondering if you wanted me to come over, I'll bring take out! Come on House, pick up."

The resounding beep signaling the end of the messages was the last sound in the apartment as quiet settled once again.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you like it, read and review. 


	2. Chinese Food and Nightmares

**A/N: **The band won gold once again, making this season's third and final gold for us. This is our best season in four years!

The homecoming dance was fun, but it would have been nicer it they wouldn't have played Soldier Boy 5 times and play nothing but rap, I only danced to maybe 3 songs. One of them was Honkytonk Badonkadonk yeah, that was fun. The theme was Haunted Homecoming and I went as a witch. I used this really expensive dress I bought for a different dance two years back, and stopped to buy this awesome witch hat and purple striped stockings, then i added a cape and, voila!

**Description: **Wilson appears hoping to enjoy some take out with his friend but, he is confronted by a totally different situation. Now dealing with his badly injured friend is the one and only thing on his mind.

**Disclaimer: **It still ain't mine.

**Stuff: **And now, as promised, the much awaited second chapter.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment Two

"Chinese Food and Nightmares"

Wilson climbed out of the car with two bags weighed down heavily with boxes of take out Chinese. He smiled slightly with anticipation as he approached the familiar territory. He shifted the bags between his hands to open the green door leading to the small lobby. He closed that door behind him, setting the bags down to dig for the keys in his pocket. Next came the scrape of the key in the lock then the resounding click as he turned the knob, returning the key to the safety of his pocket. He picked up the bags and entered using his weight as leverage to shut the door. When he looked up from the floor his heart nearly stopped. He dropped the bags, now forgotten, rice and soy sauce leaked into a smelly puddle.

A sickly pool of crimson had formed around House as he lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Wilson dropped to his knees, blood soaked through the material of his jeans and he could feel it stick to his skin. He grabbed at his friend's wrist trying to find a pulse, nearly sending himself into a panic attack when he couldn't find one. Finally, he found something, it was there but very weak. Wilson's brain froze as he looked over his horribly injured friend. Finally he came out of his shock like state enough to fish his cell phone from his pocket and call 911.

"911, what's your emergency?" A pleasant female voice on the other side of the line answered.

"I need an ambulance. I'm in apartment 221B in the apartment complex on Baker Street. Hurry, my friend is hurt."

"Alright, stay calm, I'm sending some one. The ambulance is five minutes out."

"Thank you." Wilson hung up the phone. He knew he should have stayed on the line, but his brain capacity was more than spent. He gently stroked House's blood soaked hair as he waited for the ambulance. The only time he got up was to open the door for the paramedics then, he stood back out of the way. He followed the men into the ambulance. He winced and looked away as the bumpily shoved House's gurney into the ambulance.

"Princeton-Plainsboro" He told them as he sat down and stared straight ahead. "Watch his right leg." Wilson said as the paramedics knocked the gurney around.

"Do you know what blood type he is?" One of them asked.

"No" Wilson mumbled. He reached for his cell phone once again and hid the speed dial for Cuddy's number.

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy speaking." She said in a professional tone.

"I found him" Wilson blurted into the phone, Cuddy could barely understand him.

"What?" Cuddy asked confused. It was a Saturday, but she was in her office finishing up some paperwork for a meeting Monday.

"House. Meet me in the ER." He gave the instructions quickly as they approached the hospital.

"What's going on?"

"Meet me in the ER." Wilson said once more before he closed the line and stuffed his phone into his jeans. The ambulance whirred along the streets before coming to a halt at the ER entrance.

Everything became a shuffle as they unloaded House. Wilson was the last to get off as the rushed House into the building. Cuddy waited by the nurse's station, and became frozen in shock as she caught sight of House. He was pale and ill looking, blood steadily trickling from the wound across the top of his skull as a paramedic held a thick strip of gauze over it, his right arm badly injured. He lay there with his eyes closed, unmoving, nearly lifeless.

Wilson stumbled in and Cuddy rushed up to him nearly in tears. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know" he said looking down the hall House was being rolled down, until the group turned down the hall and was no longer visible.

"Did he fall?" Cuddy asked the only thing that she could think of.

"No, his shoulder is dislocated, and the head wound is bad. Hitting the floor wouldn't have done this. Some one else did."

They both froze when they heard the shrill beeping coming from down the hall, the very hall House was taken down. They were bumped out of the way by the nurses running by with a crash cart.

"God no." Wilson whispered, tears steaming down his face as he bolted down the hall leaving Cuddy in the dust.

"He's crashing!" one female nurse shouted as Wilson stopped, staring through the glass wall. Another nurse took a pair of shears to House's t shirt, stripping it from his body before hurrying to slice off the jeans. The skin of House's abdomen was tinged a deep purple and some of his ribs were caved in. Wilson's breath caught in his throat, this was not good. Some one smacked a button on the wall and an alarm went off.

"Prep an OR! He's got internal bleeding!" Nurses ran along with the gurney applying gauze to the head wound, and hanging bags of IV's and blood. Wilson kept up with the group veering off to go to the observation deck. He didn't stop until he collided with the glass of the gallery. He watched the prep ever so closely; this was his best friend, he wasn't going to let them screw up anything no matter how small.

More tears cascaded down his cheeks as he watched people, many people; perform their duties around his friend's pale nearly naked form. House was hooked up to more monitors than he could count, _two_ IV poles were needed just to hold up all the bags of medicine he was on. He saw a few nurses and even the surgeon gasp as the saw the concave scar on his leg. Right now, it was puffy, swollen, bruised, and looked extremely sore. He was known as a misanthropic bastard and very few people knew his pain filled past, short of himself, his team, Stacy, and Cuddy knew anything at all. Wilson's hand clenched into a tight fist, who ever did this to his friend was going to get it, one way or another. For this Wilson was glad House was out, if he was awake he would be in such severe pain. He didn't want to see his friend, or anyone for that matter, suffer like this.

As a sterile blue cloth was draped over House, the surgeon walked into the room, hands poised in the air awaiting gloves. Two nurses handled dressing the surgeon. One slipped on the gloves almost effortlessly, while the other tied off a gown and mask. A piece of cloth was lifted off revealing a tray of sharp, stainless steel surgical instruments. The light reflected off them making them appear even more dangerous. Wilson's fear for House escalated when he saw the surgeon reach for the first scalpel.

He was staying here no matter how long it took; he would never leave no matter what.


	3. Sharpness and Cringing

**A/N: **Well I'm borded (yes I said borded) out of my mind with out anything to do besides write. I suddenly had an idea for this chapter, then I lost it, so I just kinda ran with whatever I could.

It's almost my birthday, my day is Tuesday. I'm mad that House is pre-empted I was hoping for a nice new House episode on my birthday. But, at least I (finally) get a cell phone. Hopefully, wireless for my laptop is next so I can update my fanfiction when I'm on my way to St. Louis with the band (a freakin' 6 hour bus trip).

**Description: **House goes through surgery and Wilson is reluctant to leave his side. House still hasn't woken up, but will he ever?

**Disclaimer: **Plot and story are mine. House, Wilson, and Cuddy sadly, aren't.

* * *

"Dear God"

"Installment Three"

"Sharpness and Cringing"

Wilson cringed, turning to look away as the surgeon made the first incision into House's battered torso. Above his head a nurse held a bottle of antiseptic cleaning out the head wound while some one stitched it back together. An intubation tube hung from the side of his mouth and the soft _swoosh, swoosh _of the respirator seemed to keep the beat for everything going on in the room.

Cuddy silently observed him from the doorway. He had been hit hard by this, way to hard. She held her breath and stepped as lightly as possible, she didn't want to disturb him. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he jumped. She expected him to pull away, to want to be left alone. Instead he pulled her into an embrace, sobbing into her shoulder. He was just seeking comfort, something all humans did at some point in their lives. She didn't have the strength or will to push him away, so she let him release on his own terms. Finally, he broke the contact, turning his back to her, embarrassed. She once again reached out to him, rubbing her hand in circular motions across, hoping to soothe him.

"James" she said softly trying to get his attention. Finally the sobs abated and he tuned back to the window, watching as everyone worked around his friend. Her hand dropped back to her side. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." His voice was weak and she had to listen closely to decipher anything he said.

"He is strong James; you just have to let him get through this."

"I know" the storm of sobs threatening to come again. "I know."

"You need to get away from this. Let's go get some coffee."

"No, I'm not leaving him." his eyes intent on House. She waited patiently, knowing she wouldn't peel Wilson from House's side no matter how much she tried.

Everything in the room seemed to pause, waiting for the surgeon's signal to close. The surgeon stepped back and a crowd rushed in performing intricate stitch work. The surgeon walked out of the OR plucking off his rubber gloves and mask. He appeared behind him and Wilson held his breath as he awaited the news.

"We managed to stop the bleeding. One of his broken ribs pierced his liver."

"Will he be okay?" Cuddy asked, talking for the speechless Wilson.

"We are going to transfer him to recovery; he'll be there for a few hours. Some one will come to put his shoulder back in place and cast his arm. Then, we can transfer him to a regular room and you can visit him there."

"Thank you." Cuddy said. The surgeon quickly spun on his heel and left.

"Let's go get some coffee; we can talk in my office."

Wilson nodded his head in agreement. Cuddy forced him to sit on the couch in her office while she fetched two cups of coffee; god knows he needed the peace and quiet.

The coffee cup felt warm between his fingers, but the brew tasted bitter in his mouth as it burned its way down his throat. Cuddy sat next to him on the couch, but neither of them said a word. The clock ticked past and still nothing was said. That was, until the shrill ring of Cuddy's phone cut through the silence. Cuddy jumped. She picked up the phone.

"Dr Cuddy speaking" she said professionally.

"Okay"

"Thank you Doctor" She said as she hung up.

"Wilson. House was just moved to regular room. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but you can go see him, he is in room 412."

"Thank you Lisa" he said on his way out the door. He wandered to the elevator and waited on the incredibly slow lift. It was vacant when it clanked into place on the first floor. He pushed the button for the 4th floor and waited.

When he slid open the glass door to House's room, his heart broke. His friend looked so frail, so helpless. House's arm was casted and raised on a pillow, his leg was entrusted to a heavy brace to keep him from damaging it any further. More wires and tubes dangled from his friend than he could count, he looked like a puppet that had been clipped of its strings, a fallen man. He sat on the corner of the bed cradling House's left hand in his own.

He didn't have House's eye for small details, he never noticed the fine boned structure of House's hands, the long delicate pianist's fingers. His mind went to all the nights they had spent together chowing down on take-out Chinese while House banged out familiar melodies on the piano. A tear ran down his cheek, splashing down upon House's hand.

The stat monitor began to pick up in pace, House's fingers twitched and Wilson dropped his hand back into the safety of the sheets.

House was awake…

* * *

**A/N: **Ha. I left you with a cliff hanger there. Is House really awake or is Wilson just filled with too much false hope. Ooo… I'm already getting ideas for the next chapter as I type this, time to go to the drawing board! Well, my writing notebook, it's rough draft time! 


	4. Deep Seated Fears

**A/N:**Because I love you all so much, (struggles to read tiny font with out glasses, then makes it size 20.) and now that I can actually read my words, I think it's time for a well needed update.

I'm still grounded (until I clean the f-ing basement) but, I'm lucky. After my dad goes to work, my mom lets me on the computer. Hee hee.

Dang it, I have a headache.

Please excuse me if this chapter is crappy.

**Description:**Houses past comes back to torture him, seems that he can't free himself from the abuse. Wilson is confused and awestruck by the things that are happening right before his eyes.

**Disclaimer:**In my pitiful money-lacking state, I could never own House. Please don't sue me, I have nothing but some pocket lint if I dig deep enough, I can't make money of these stories.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment Four

Deep Seated Fears

Wilson was shocked into stillness as his friend flailed around before him. Grunts came from deep in his throat as he tried to scream past the intubation tube. House's eyes opened and he stared straight at Wilson. Wilson saw something he had never seen since the infarction, flash across House's face, fear. This was not the monsters-in-your-closet fear, this was true fear, the scarred-for-life fear that only certain things can instill in you.

"No!" House gurgled out. This was not normal, House was not awake, he couldn't be. He had to be seeing things. A nurse in light pink scrubs rushed in, shoving Wilson out of the way. A syringe filled with something skillfully injected into House's right arm. House slumped back into the bed his muscles relaxing.

A sedative, she gave him a sedative. Now he was sleeping peacefully, or at least it seemed so.

Ever since he had first met House, he knew he had a brilliant mind. He was the greatest diagnostician in the world, any fellow that that managed to be accepted into one of his three openings and survived, was practically guaranteed a job at any hospital they ever wanted to work at.

The only thing was now, House's mind seemed to be torturing him, and scaring the hell out of him. Wilson could only wonder what had happened to this man to make him the way he was. His breathing had evened out and the nurse pulled on rubber gloves to remove the tube from his throat, after that changing the bandage that was ripped from the head wound in his fury. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief; one of the many things tethering him to the bed was gone.

After the nurse shut the door he moved toward the bed once more. This time he laid a warm, but shaking hand on House's shoulder. House's chest rose and fell with his soft breathing. Wilson fixed House's leg that had teetered off the pillows, and then settled back into the corner of the bed. He rubbed at the tension forming at the back of his neck and looked to the clock. It was 11 PM, exactly 12 hours since he had found House in a bloody heap on the floor. He hadn't gotten any sleep and it was beginning to take its toll. His eyes had bags beneath them from both the lack of sleep and the worry, and he was both physically and mentally exhausted. He couldn't take this anymore. He stood and left the room, besides, Cuddy would want to know what happened anyway.

She jolted as the office door clicked open; Wilson took a seat in a chair in front of the grand mahogany desk.

"So how is he?" she asked after he satin still silence for what seemed like an eternity.

"He woke up." He stated simply, he didn't feel like details at the moment.

"Really, is he still awake now?" Cuddy was surprised to hear this news; she hadn't expected him to be up for a while now.

"No. It was so scary; I saw something in his eyes that I haven't seen in so long. Fear."

"I'd be afraid to if I were in his condition."

"This was different. This wasn't regular fear; I never even see that deep seated fear in the eyes of my cancer patients."

"Is he okay now?" Cuddy said trying to change the subject slightly.

"The nurse gave him a sedative, he's asleep and they removed the intubation tube."

"Please promise me one thing-" Cuddy said in a more firm tone.

"What?" He spoke weakly.

"-That you won't kill yourself over this. Go home and get some sleep. House will be fine for a few hours, he's under observation. If anything happens, the nurses know to page you."

"I...I can't leave him." Wilson felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes as he uttered this.

"I'm going to tell you this as your boss, not your friend. Go to sleep, you can't care for him if you are dead on your feet."

Wilson knew she was right so he turned to leave without another word. He stepped out into the cold of the night, a chill creeping all over his skin. He didn't have the energy to go back to his office and grab his over coat. It took a minute but he adjusted to the cold, he extracted his keys from his pocket and climbed into his car. He gripped at the steering wheel before starting the car. Now it was time for the long drive to home, or what ever was home now. A lonely hotel room was all he had to look forward to anymore.

* * *

**A/N:**I know this chapter is probably sucks -ss but there is a huge storm coming and it is bringing lots of thunder and lightning. And my brother won't f--k off; he's freaking standing over my shoulder telling how many minutes I have before he kills me for not giving him the computer. I hate him, he's a complete retard.

As you can tell, I'm not in the happiest of moods.


	5. Hiding From the Pain

**A/N:** Hey everyone, sorry for the slow updates. I'm on Fall break until Tuesday, so updates should come more frequently since now I will have time to type them up.

I love the new Rascal Flatts CD, Still Feels Good, I just bought it in the special package with the included DVD. If they ever play near me, I need to beg my parents for the tickets. I would kill to see them.

**Description: **Nothing seems to comfort either of them. They are just hiding behind a shield, that is, until it breaks.

**Disclaimer:** Dear God, why do I have to put this here? Does it look like my name is David Shore to you? I could never create a character like House, I'm not that deep.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment Five

"Hiding From the Pain"

The four pale white walls of the hotel room offered no solace whatsoever. His mind raced a mile a minute and didn't offer him a moment's rest. The stiff mattress springs poked into his back as he tried to doze off. He gave it up, propped himself up against a pile of pillows and flipped on the TV. Thirty mind-numbing minutes of flipping through channels later he turned off the television set, frustrated. The cell phone charging on the nightstand glowed in the near dark, announcing the time 12:41 AM. He couldn't resist the urge anymore. He flipped open the phone, just in case his missed any calls since he last checked five minutes ago.

He got what he half-expected, nothing at all. No matter how many time he tried to convince himself that House was in capable hands and he would be fine, it just never sunk in. An image of House in the hospital bed, helpless and weak, flashed through his mind. He shook what little of it he could off. He was so exhausted he could barely think straight, he wanted to bash his skull against the wall, just so he could get some sleep.

Oo-----------oO

A nurse picked up House's chart, scribbling down information as she took his vital signs. Everything was normal, but he was still out of it. The only time he had come close to bringing himself back into the real world, was his panic attack episode earlier that day. The chart was clunked back into place hanging off the foot of his bed and the nurse left, shutting the door as silently as possible.

His mind drifted on the line between sleep and wakefulness, happy to stay in the haze of drugs that kept the pain at bay. A creepy tingling started at his feet and broadened its way up his body. He awoke with his breathing jagged from the jar out of peacefulness. He observed his surroundings; stat monitor, bleakly painted walls, pristine white sheets, a rolling bedside table over in the corner.

_'Shit'_ was his first thought. That man had put him here, that's all he remembered. Everything went dark with that blow to the head. He was surprised not to find Wilson standing vigil over his bed. The room was empty with himself as the only occupant.

Oo-----------oO

Wilson dialed the number to House's room as if by heart. He waited and waited as the phone rung, the sullen tone radiating sound all throughout the silent room. Finally after about two minutes of non stop ringing, someone finally picked up on the other line.

"What do you want Wilson?" a gruff voice bellowed out.

"You're awake!" Wilson said excitedly.

"No, I'm a zombie and I'm coming to eat your brains. What do you think?" He replied sarcastically. Wilson chuckled, now that was the House he knew.

"What took you so long to pick up?" Wilson asked out-of-the-blue.

"Why do they make these hospital phones so difficult to figure out?" House answered like always, in another question.

"To annoy you, why else? Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" House questioned, confused.

"Answer everything in a question."

"Who are you?" his mind suddenly lapsing. He nearly went face first into another panic attack. He couldn't remember anything.

"What?!" Wilson screamed into the phone, scaring House into dropping the other handset. It clanked loudly as it crashed against the bed frame.

"House, are you still there?" the signal came in fuzzy and most of what House heard was static. His breathing was rapid and shallow as he put an end to the phone. He threw it at the floor with enough force to send little bots of electronics scattered everywhere.

Wilson dressed him self at lightning speed, barely running a comb through his hair. His expensive French loafers creaked as he rushed to the elevators, pure adrenaline powering him. He stumbled not-so-gracefully into his car and started it.. He had the gas pedal floored, he hoped to god that there were no cops watching him on his way there. The last thing he needed at the moment was a suspended license.

_Screeeeech!_

He came to a sudden stop at a red light, just missing the person about to cross the intersection. The person looked at him with a face mixing anger, fear, and shock. The person's hand raised giving Wilson 'The Finger'. Wilson ignored him and continued his reckless drive to the hospital.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the short chapter and sudden ending, I'm tired and strapped for ideas. It's a lethal combination. 

I promise I'll update a few times this weekend, as much as I possibly can.

Reviews are appreciated. Don't be afraid to criticize me, I can take it.


	6. Fill In the blanks

**A/N:**Happy Halloween everyone! Hope you all got a nice candy stash. Have fun with all the sugar highs! I' m eating Reese's and Tootsie Rolls. Let's see if I get any sleep tonight.

I hope to update again soon. Please tell me what you think.

**Description:**Wilson arrives only to find a scared and traumatized House, who can't even remember his name. Will Wilson be forced into decisions that he doesn't have the heart to make? Let's find out

**Disclaimer:**Not my show, don't own it. Probably never will.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment Six

"Fill In the Blanks"

Wilson knocked at the door politely, when he heard no response, he entered. He saw House curled in on himself as much as the hefty leg brace would allow, his back was to Wilson. Wilson rested a hand on his shoulder but, the second his palm touched his sweaty skin, he jumped. Wilson saw the monitors, House's heart rate blasted sky high.

"W-w- who are you?" House managed to say between choked breaths.

"I'm Wilson; I'm your best friend. Don't you remember me?" Wilson hoped he was imagining all of this, that he would wake up from this bad dream any instant.

"I don't know you!" House said, his breathing slowly evened out. "Get out." He whined.

He didn't want to leave; he couldn't leave his best friend like this. Just then, House went still and slumped back against the bed. Everything in that instant seemed to move in slow motion. He felt as if he was running miles to reach the bedside while in reality it was only a few feet. He shook his friend by the shoulders roughly, when that didn't work he slapped at his cheeks. No response.

"Nurse! Nurse! Help!" Wilson yelled as loud as his weak voice would let him. A female nurse and an orderly rushed in.

"What's wrong sir?" she asked.

"He passed out. He didn't know who he was before it happened."

The orderly passed the nurse a penlight and she checked House's pupils. He face suddenly turned grim, and Wilson's stomach dropped to the floor.

"I'll get a specialist in here right away." She said and hurried out of the room. The orderly stayed behind, just in case.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. A short middle aged lady entered, he lab coat draping to just an inch above the floor, her brown hair pulled into a messy bun. Tendrils of hair cascaded over her face and she pushed them behind her glasses. She set her large bag of supplies in a chair in the corner and extracted a penlight, and a few other instruments.

She began to inspect House as she asked Wilson questions. She shined the penlight into House's eyes. "What did he do before this happened?"

"He couldn't remember anything, not even his own name." Wilson recalled. _'Not even me.' _He wanted to say but, something inside stopped him.

She tested his reflexes. She noticed the braced in the right leg and questioned it.

"He had an infarction 9 years ago. Killed most of the muscle and he had to have it removed. They put him in it to keep from hurting the leg further." He paused for a moment. "Is he gonna be alright?"

"I don't know, and I wish I could tell you. It might be brain damage from the blow to his head. We need to MRI him to be sure." Wilson let out a deep breath and turned away. A tear streamed down his face. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure will find out what's wrong with him." She offered, hoping it would reassure him a little.

"That's what his doctor told him nine years ago. He ended up with half a thigh. Please, I don't want to hear it."

She nodded, collected her things and left the room to order the tests.

* * *

**A/N: **You know you love me, no matter how many cliff hangers I throw you. Please show the love and review! 


	7. Over the Edge

**A/N:**Sorry I have been neglecting this story. I've had way too much going on, I'm stuck in between pep band and concert band, getting my solo ready, homework stacked up to my eyeballs, and writing for Mirage (if you really want me to tell you what that is, just ask). I'll do what I can to try to update more frequently. First though, I need to get more ideas. They don't grow on trees. If they did though, that would be nice, Pick-an-Idea. Lol.

**Description:**What things are going on inside House's head, and will they ever figure out. Meanwhile this is getting too much for Wilson to handle, how much longer until he breaks?

**Disclaimer:**Two words: Not mine.

* * *

"Dear God"

Installment Seven

"Over the Edge"

The giant magnet of the MRI clanked and clattered, House in its narrow tube. Wilson was in the corner of the tiny glass room for the doctors off to the side, the wall supported his weight as his muscles turned to the consistency of silly putty and he nearly slid down the wall. He didn't believe this was happening, he didn't want to believe. He wanted to wake from this terrible dream any moment now.

He watched the neurologist face turn emotions as she moved closer to the screen trying to make sure what she was seeing.

"What" the weakened strains in his tone seemed to resonate even above the noisy machine next to them.

She was silent, all she did was kit a key on the keyboard and House came out of the MRI, laying in complete stillness. Finally she spoke, "I want to generate the scans to get a better look." An orderly wheeled his bed in and lifted him into it elevating his leg on a few bed pillows. The brace had to be removed before the procedure and it needed to be put back on as soon as possible. Wilson followed the two back to the room. When the man asked for help putting the brace back on, Wilson immediately stepped in, cradling the limb carefully whit he positioned the brace so his leg could be lowered into it. Wilson held his breath until the last strap was fastened into place. Wilson nodded to the other man, and he left.

Wilson fought back the tears he knew were going to come anyway, he talked to House even though he couldn't hear. "God dammit. Why do you have to do this to me House? Don't you dare leave me now!" He buried his head in his hands trying to tell himself that he would wake up any minute now; this was only a bad dream.

In his tear stricken haze, he swore he felt House's fingers curl around his own. He looked down to find it a figure of his imagination. He intertwined their fingers secretly wishing for everything to go back to their twisted version of normal. Before he knew it he was hunched over the bed, sleeping over top of House's stomach. Just the presence of his friend made him feel safe. The only place he wasn't allowed this freedom was within his own mind.

He didn't even realize it but, he was dreaming…

_Wilson sniffed the air, musty with a hefty scent of pine. That's the one thing you can expect from a hike in the woods. Dead leaves rotted along the forest floor, sticks cracked every step under their feet. House was next to him, happy and healthy. He was behind him pushing his further past the entrance of the trail._

_"I'm going, I'm going" Wilson protested, pushing back against House with all his might._

_"Well go faster" House suddenly backed up from his friend making him fall ungracefully to the ground among nature's debris. "I'm pretty sure you can't hike three miles from the ground. That is, unless you want to crawl." House stuck out arm, offering to help him up. _

_Wilson grabbed House's arm just before the elbow and was almost thrown forward as House purposely pulled him up too fast. Once they got walking, House sped easily ahead of him, taking long strides with his lengthy legs. He hopped up the steps built into the side of the hill and was impatiently waiting for Wilson at the top. Wilson didn't have his watch on him and looked to the sun to approximate the time. It was nearly noon. _

_House led them to a wooden observation deck overlooking whatever was beyond the hillside. Wilson gasped when he saw the scene before him. There was a crystal blue lake below lined but the green grass and wildflowers of the valley and topped off by a brilliant cerulean sky._

_"Told you you'd like it." House said taking in the sights for himself. Wilson pulled out his camera and snagged a few snap shots for later. A young couple came down the natural stairs, heading the same place they were. Wilson made a polite conversation with them and convinced them to take a photo of him and House._

_He had contemplated threatening House with something nasty if he didn't behave for this picture, but settled for mumbling a stupid joke in his ear to make him laugh, to make him smile for once in a photo._

_Wilson thanked the woman and retrieved his camera, fastening the strap around his wrist. He went back to his friend and rested his elbows on the safety rail._

_"What If I could tell you what is going to happen to you in the future?" Wilson asked, trekking foreign ground._

_"I'd say, you're full of crap." House said on one of his trademark sarcastic responses._

_"I can tell you what's going to happen." Wilson insisted._

_"Fine, tell me." House rolled his eyes, not expecting much._

_"You'll never end up happy, not like you are now. You're going to have your life taken out from under you by a simple blood clot. You'll have chronic pain and a limp with a cane for the remainder of your life, and end up becoming overly dependent on Vicodin." House became interested but confused at the same time. He didn't believe in this psychobabble bullshit, but there is no way Wilson could pull that kind of detail out of thin air. Wilson continued, "You will become the world's leading diagnostician, people from all over the world seeking you out for help. You will run the hospital rampant with your antics, but we all tolerate it. Because, we all know you will do what ever it takes to get the job done."_

_House stared wide eyes and awestruck at him. _

_"When with 'the prophecy' come true?" House asked rolling his eyes, he wasn't convinced yet._

_"What is the date?" Wilson asked, unsure of what time this dream had place him.  
_

_"March 16th, 1997, duh."_

_Wilson calculated the date of the infarction, May 17th. "Two months and one day"_

_Just then, the image started to blur out before him. House looked like he was covered in a layer of wax paper. When he reached out he was falling into to blackness, just House's youthful face as a memory._

Wilson jolted awake with a start. That by far had to have been one of the freakiest dreams his brain has ever spat out. As he slowly brought the rest of him into the land of the wakeful people he caught a glance of the monitors.

House's breathing and heart rates were up, but he wasn't awake. He may be dead to the world, but he was still in pain. Wilson dug in the drawer of the crash cart pushed in to the corner and found a preloaded syringe of Morphine. He ran his fingers down the IV line to find the port. He slowly pushed the drugs into his friend's veins and kept his eyes focused on the screens. He was satisfied when everything evened out, and slid into the chair.

"You're a parasite, you know House. You've finally done it, you've invaded my mind. Just promise me one thing; you'll never scare the shit out of me like this again."

The neurologist from earlier walked in with a large yellow envelope and stuck the scans up on the light board on the wall before flipping on the switches. Wilson went over to her, wondering how much of his one-sided conversation with him she had heard.

She pointed to an area on the film just down from the crown of his head, there was swelling, probably a hematoma. That would mean only one thing…

Break out the drills, brain surgery would be needed to relieve the pressure. It was something Wilson was hoping he wouldn't have to authorize.

A few hours later he had a clip board of consent forms thrust into his hands. He scribbled his name in an illegible scrawl that only those who knew him would be able to make it out.

Tears welled up behind his eyes as he watched his friend be wheeled off to go under the knife yet again.

"Dear God. Please make him somehow stick through this. My life would be meaningless without him."


End file.
